Chapter 28

How I was sent forth by my lord abbot to seek the protection of _Duke William_, and of what befell me by the way of the pirates.

That night there was restless sleeping in Vale Castle and but rough quarters, but no assault nor alarm.

Next morning there was singing of "Non nobis" and "Te Deum" to boot by the brethren assembled in martial conclave on the open lawn. Their church was destroyed and its beauty perished; but said Abbot Michael--

"Lo, brethren, here be your choir these days, here your House of God. See, its pillars are the Lord's, and they fear no sacrilegious hand; see, its arch is the heaven, and its roof the sunlit sky, and for music to our chant hear the lapping of the waves that God hath set in their bed below." So, with comforting words, did he restore our courage, as we thought sadly of the ruined cloister, whose smoke yet went up pitifully to the sky.

And shortly after these solemn offices I was taken by Hugo to the abbot's presence, in the little chamber he had on the seaward wall. Very strange and careworn he was.

"Son," he said, greeting me with a sweet dignity, "thou hast done well already in the profession thou hast chosen, as I hear by good report of all, and indeed so comes out in thee the prowess of a noble race. Thou seest what straits the brethren are in by this blockade and siege?" He pointed seaward and landward. "And that, should help come not, a deadlier enemy than the Sarrasin himself will strive with us--the famine with the sword. Thou knowest all this?"

Now, as he spake, I guessed why he spake thus, and so right boldly I replied, with a straight look in his eyes--

"Ay, my lord, right well I know. Send me, therefore, now, whither thou thinkest well, for succour in this day of extremity!"

His eye brightened at my words, and he and Hugo looked gladly at one another, and Hugo said, with low voice, proudly--

"Our Father, the abbot, hath chosen thee, my esquire, and a proud mission it is, being assured of thy strength and truth of heart, to be his messenger to our sovereign lord the duke, and to inform him of the dangers of his faithful bedesmen here, and of the arrogance of their foes and his own. To-night thou wilt start on a noble and knightly enterprise."

"It is, my son," said the abbot, "a path full of danger. But also, as our brother saith, an enterprise both noble and knightly, for the saving of these men of God, and the feeble ones that are sheltered in our fold, not alone from death, but from rude insult and sharp pain."

I told my lord that I was indeed willing to accept it, though I loved life full dearly. And he, assuring me that all matters of my setting forth that night were in Brother Hugo's hands, bent over me, and pressing his hands, that trembled the while, on my young head, committed me to God's care. And I went forth calm and steady with his holy words yet in my ears and a great glory of gladness in my heart, that I, still a lad, was thus chosen for a knight's work.

I was to set out, Hugo told me, at nightfall from a little cove named Bordeaux Bay that lay hard by the Castle. Old Simon Renouf, a wary pilot amid the dangerous rocks and shallows of our seas, was, with one other, to be my comrade, and I was to be clad in the rough dress of the fisher folk in case of capture. We were that night to make for the Isle of Jersey, and craftily to lie hid in a quiet opening in the rocks for the day, and then next day, if the wind were good, to sail to the port of Granville in Normandy.

Now, it was arranged I was to bear no written message to my lord the duke, only a ring of gold hung in a little bag about my neck, that our abbot said would stand me in better stead with William, recalling past services and duties, and would be thought, were I taken by the pirates, but some harmless relic or valued heirloom. Now, the ring had on it but the letter "A," and the motto inscribed around "_Loyal devoir_."

And so at nightfall we went forth from the back side of the Castle, down the steep and rugged path that led at length to the shore of Bordeaux Bay, Brother Hugo, as we went, giving me words of good counsel as to my behaviour before Duke William, impressing on him the insult of these knaves to his high fame as duke, and how I should keep a still tongue if I fell into the hands of the Grand Sarrasin.

We found Simon Renouf and Jacques de la Mare waiting for us in their small fishing-smack which I knew so well, having so often sailed with them as boy and lad, and well they loved me, as did all the fishers of Grande Havre and St. Sampson. But now, as Jacques took the tiller, old Simon bade me handle the sail, as though I were indeed that which I appeared, a raw hand learning seaman's craft. Right manfully I took up my task, and in a moment the dark sail ran up the mast, Simon undid the fastening and pushed off, and with Jacques cunningly guiding us from the rocks, the boat stole noiselessly from the bay, coasting northward for a space to get away from the Moorish ships that still lay outside, and then, aided by a dim white mist that lay upon the face of the waters and a chill night-breeze, we bore away to the south of Herm and Jethou, whose craggy sides loomed black and terrible as we sailed by.

Presently the wind fell, and we lay well-nigh becalmed, and the moon came out, and we could see now the high walls of Sark and the steep side of Brecquou, and slowly we approached thither. So we ran straight to Jersey. The moon set presently, and we made little way, and with the light of breaking dawn we entered a small creek, wherein the water lay calm and still. When the boat was in safety we clambered upon the rocks, and among them Simon showed a little cave overhung with green streaming plants that indeed was a pleasant place, with all manner of coloured sea-plants clinging to the wall, that the light as it entered played upon. Here we ate of the good store that lay in the boat's locker, and a rare draught of wine washed down the food and refreshed our spirits, and then Simon bade me lie down and rest, and as the sun began to climb up and make all the sea glisten along its crest, I lay down and slept, and awaked not till he had climbed far up into the sky. But when I awoke old Simon Renouf still sat by the cave-mouth, gazing out to sea from under his looming brows, and I thought he sat there like some great eagle by its eyrie keeping watch over its young. And such indeed he was, an eagle soaring high in fidelity, and my guardian to the death, as in the end it appeared.

Now, as evening drew near, Simon showed us that with an early start that night, with good weather as the wind lay, we would make the Norman coast ere morning, and creep along as we might to Port Granville by daylight.

But alas! that night we had but just shot out of our hermitage amid the rocks, and were giving great heed to the perilous passage withal, when, as we rounded a sudden shelve of rock, we met almost face to face a great ship that was making across our course. And I feared that the worst would hap, for she was of the same build as the fleet of Le Grand Sarrasin. Did they see us lying in now close by the rock? We could not tell for a moment, but then there was no doubt. A shout rang out, and a voice bidding us come aside.

What could men so bidden do? To sail forth were hopeless. This great craft would overhaul us of an instant. To coast along the shore were perilous and must end in capture. For a moment Simon hesitated, and then ran our boat into the creek again.

"See, lads," he said, "here we must stand. The land is more friendly than the water. Yet I have prayed oft to die on the sea, when my time came."

We climbed on to the rocks, and he handed us a cutlass apiece and a knife such as seamen use, and he pointed to a square ledge of rock, that but one could enter upon at a time, since a thick jagged wall protected half the front.

"Stay, Simon," said I, "art sure she is a pirate?"

"Ay, lad, sure," he said; "none but a pirate so hails peaceable fisher craft"

"Simon," I said, "why not give in? Why should you and the lad die for me?"

The old man laid his rugged hand upon me, and the sun lit up with a rich light his red beard as he spoke.

"Have not the Brethren taught thee a word called 'Duty,' lad?" he slowly said, "a word for me, that was born a poor fisherman in the calling of the Lord's Apostles, as well as for thee born of a great house."

"Then it is thy duty thus to do?" I said, perceiving that naught could move him, and that indeed a noble strain within him forbade him to be moved.

"Ay, lad," said he, "and may we all, thou, Jacques, and I, old though I be, do our duty right well this morn!"